Seven Women

'It was a bit of a late night,' Maggie said. 'We were managing an awards event for some plastics industry people. The VIP guests arrived more than an hour late -- and it all went downhill from there. I just need to take a quick shower.'

'Would you like me to come back?' Jamie asked.

'No. No. I'll only be two ticks. The kitchen is through there. There should be a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the fridge. And you'll find some glasses on the top shelf in the pantry -- at least I think that's where I put them.'

'Veuve Clicquot.'

'A house warming gift. From me to me,' Maggie said.

Jamie went off to the kitchen, found the Veuve Clic, poured a couple of glasses, and was just standing there, thinking about nothing in particular, when Maggie returned.

'Gosh, that was quick,' Jamie said.

'I'm really quite small,' Maggie said. 'It's hardly like washing a large family car, is it?'

And, yes, Maggie was quite small. Perhaps five foot four. With narrow, almost boyish hips; small nicely shaped breasts; a pleasant oval-shaped face that was (almost) always wearing a little smile; and silky blonde shoulder-length hair.

'Well ... cheers,' Jamie said. 'And welcome to The South.'

'For auld lang syne,' Maggie said. (Jamie wasn't sure why.) And then, having taken a sip of her champagne, she went and peered into the fridge. 'Lunch,' she said. And then she peered into the pantry. And then she peered into the fridge once more. 'I probably should have done some shopping,' she said.

Jamie laughed. 'Don't fret. There's a pub just around the corner that does all-afternoon Sunday Lunch. We'll just enjoy our champagne, and then we can go for a wander.'

'Umm ... OK. Sorry about that,' Maggie said.

'Nothing to be sorry about.'

The all-afternoon Sunday Lunch was not exactly haute cuisine. Anton Mosimann and the Roux Brothers could sleep easy. There was roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, roast pork and baked apple sauce, and there was roast chicken with sage, onion, and lemon zest stuffing. 'The roast beef tends to be a bit overdone for my taste,' Jamie told Maggie. 'Grey rather than pink. But the chicken is usually pretty nice. Proper free-range birds.' So that's what they had.

After lunch, they strolled back to Maggie's flat. 'Another glass of bubbles?' she said.

Jamie frowned. 'Umm ... depends,' he said. 'Do you have one of those clever stopper things that keeps the bubbles in?'

Maggie shook her head.

'Oh well, in that case it would be a shame to let it go flat.'

'Is the right answer,' Maggie said. And she rinsed the glasses and refilled them. 'It's been a while,' she said. 'You know ... you and me.'

'I suppose it has. Three years? Four years?'

'At least three.'

'My intentions were good,' Jamie said. 'I often thought about picking up the phone or dropping you a postcard.'

'But you didn't.'

'No. I didn't. Life just kept getting in the way.' And then Jamie said: 'You know, sometimes I feel a bit like a shark. If I don't keeping moving forward, I'll drown. Or suffocate. Or whatever it is that sharks do when they stop moving forward.'

Maggie laughed, and nodded, and took another sip of her champagne. 'I know what you mean, but I'm not sure that I can see you as a shark,' she said. 'I suspect that you are one of Berlin's foxes.'

'Berlin?'

'Isaiah Berlin. An essay he wrote. Something about hedgehogs who know one thing well, and foxes who know many things lightly. Or something like that. In the PR world, we have a saying: this is not a job for hedgehogs.'

Jamie nodded. He wasn't one-hundred percent sure what Maggie meant, but he got the gist of it, so perhaps he was a fox. Perhaps knowing many things lightly was OK.

'Right,' Maggie said, 'and now I think that I'd like to watch your beautiful cock entering my cunt.'

Jamie might have frowned slightly. In fact Jamie definitely frowned slightly.

'It's all right,' Maggie said. 'You won't have to be a contortionist. I have a mirror. Well ... two actually. Come on.'

And that set the tone for the rest of the evening.

'Oh, yes. Isn't that one of the sexiest things you've ever seen?' Maggie said at one point.

The following morning, Maggie departed for Milan where she was part of the advance party for an event launching a new car.

Funnily enough, while Maggie was away in Milan, Jamie thought that he spotted another face from the past. He was standing on the curb at Oxford Circus, waiting for the lights, when he thought that spotted Louise, the temp from Mackenzie-Marshall. She looked a little older, and her hair was shorter, but, yes, it definitely looked like Louise. And she looked more beautiful than ever. But then, when Jamie finally reached the other side of the street, she had disappeared. He hung around for a good 10 or 15 minutes on the off chance that she had ducked into one of the shops. But, no. Or perhaps it hadn't been Louise after all.

It was almost two weeks before Jamie heard from Maggie again. 'Would you like to catch up for a drink?' she said. 'Maybe tomorrow night. I have a lunch to organise, supervise, whatever. But that should be all over by about four. We could have another attempt at The Yellow Dog. Or you could come around to my place. In fact ... why don't you do that? I'll pick up a bottle of fizz and something to snack on. We can get straight on to it'

'Straight on to it?' Jamie said.

'Yes. You know.'

Jamie didn't. But still .... 'I probably can't get there until about seven,' he said. 'I have a campaign review meeting at five-thirty. But it should only take an hour. Is that OK?'

'Perfect.'

By the time that Jamie arrived at Maggie's flat, Maggie had prepared an antipasto platter that looked as if it might be intended to serve half a dozen. At least. 'There's a bottle of Veuve Clic in the fridge,' she said. 'And you know where the glasses are. Can you do the honours please? I shall be right back.'

Jamie had brought a bottle of Pol Roger, the manager's special at the local offie. But Maggie had clearly said 'Veuve Clic', so he took out the Veuve Clicquot and put the 'Polly Roger' in the fridge for another day. And then he went to the cupboard and took out a couple of champagne flutes. Apart from his parents, Maggie was the only person Jamie knew who had proper champagne flutes. It was probably just his imagination, but he thought that champagne tasted much better sipped from a narrow flute. He poured some of the Veuve Clic into each glass and he was just absent-mindedly watching the little columns of fine bubbles rising when Maggie returned, now dressed in a long, satiny robe.

'Are we ready?' she said.

'We are,' Jamie replied. 'I think.'

'Then you bring the wine, and I'll take the platter.'

Take the platter where, Jamie briefly wondered. But then it all became clear. The bedroom. Yes. Of course.

Maggie placed the antipasto platter on top of a chest of drawers, and Jamie handed her a glass of champagne. 'Here's to fucking Friday,' Maggie said softly, as she raised her glass in a toast.

Jamie smiled. 'Fucking Friday? Yes. Yes, I'll drink to that. To Fucking Friday.'

'Let the fornication begin,' Maggie said.

They both took a sip of their champagne. And then their lips met. And then Maggie took Jamie's free hand and slipped it into the opening of her robe and let it rest on her naked cunt.

'No knickers,' Jamie said.

'I thought that you would only want to take then off,' Maggie said.

Jamie tugged at the tie of her robe and let it fall open. 'But you have kept your bra on. Thank you. For some reason, I find a bra and no knickers really fucking sexy. I don't know why.'

'Does it matter why?' Maggie asked. 'It's Fucking Friday. And I think that Fucking Friday should be fucking sexy, shouldn't it? What would be the point of Fucking Friday if it wasn't fucking sexy?'

That particular Fucking Friday was definitely fucking sexy. Jamie had been lucky in as much as all of his previous sexual partners had been ... well ... agreeably sexy. But Maggie was quietly over the top -- and sometimes not so quietly. Nothing was off limits.

When Jamie woke up the following morning, Maggie was already awake. And sitting up.

'Gosh. Did I sleep in?' Jamie asked.

'Not really,' Maggie said. 'I just woke up thinking that this whole event management thing might have been a mistake. And I couldn't go back to sleep.'

'Oh. Does this mean that you are going to go back up north?' Jamie asked.

'No, no. London's fine. In fact London's better than fine. But I might have to get back into PR.'

On Wednesday morning, Maggie phoned to ask Jamie if he had time for a quick lunch.

'Yeah, but it will have to be quick,' he told her.

'That's OK. I need to be up at Ally Pally at two-thirty,' she said.

They met up at Cooper's for an omelette and a coffee. Maggie was wearing a navy blue suit with a fine dark red pinstripe. 'Gosh, you look different with clothes on,' Jamie said. 'Well ... normal clothes.'

Maggie smiled. 'I'm a normal girl,' she said. 'Except when you are leading me astray.'

'Is that a problem?' Jamie asked.

'Oh, no. I enjoy being led astray. I enjoy it a lot. I thought that you realised that.'

That was Jamie's cue to smile.

'Well, I've told Donald,' Maggie said. 'The Main Event will have to be the main event without Maggie Brown.'

'Oh. And how did that go down?'

'Not great. But it's done.'

'And so now it's just a matter of finding a PR job.'

'No. That, too, is done.'

'Oh?'

'Kinnear & Kirscher,' Maggie said, looking rather pleased with herself.

'Hey ... K2! I'm impressed. Straight to the top shelf. Well done, you. We'd better have a glass of something to celebrate.'

'At least,' Maggie said. 'But not now. I need to be up at Ally Pally in an hour or so. And I'd better not turn up drunk in charge of a conference plan.'

'Later?' Jamie suggested.

'Sounds great. I'll cook. You bring the wine. Maybe something red for a change. But up to you.'

Something red? Jamie's experience of red wine was of lots of cheap Spanish 'burgundy', a bit of probably-not-very-good Chianti, and the occasional bottle of some Bordeaux magic, courtesy of Peter Gould. 'I need a red,' Jamie told the guy in the offie. 'Something decent. Something worthy of a small celebration.'

'To drink, I assume.'

'To drink,' Jamie said. 'Tonight.'

'With food?'

'All going well,' Jamie said. 'If my hostess is organised. She isn't always. But ... well ....'

The guy in the offie smiled, walked across the shop, and took a bottle from the shelf. 'A little merlot-cabernet blend from Hawke's Bay,' he said.

Jamie frowned. 'Hawke's Bay?'

'On New Zealand's east coast. North Island. But close your eyes and it could be from Bordeaux. Pauillac probably. Good fruit -- but not too heavy. A hint of farmyard -- but, again, not too heavy. For the price, I think it's an absolute gem.'

When Jamie arrived at Maggie's place, the flat was filled with the aroma of caramelising onions. 'Something smells good,' Jamie said.

'I thought that I'd make steak sandwiches. I hope that you like your steak rare.'

'Pink is good,' Jamie said.

As he watched Maggie gently cooking down the evenly-sliced onions with just a little brown sugar and a small splash of Balsamic vinegar, while, at the same time, making a horseradish cream sauce, and doing half a dozen other things with what appeared to be consummate ease, Jamie realised that it was the first time that he had ever seen Maggie do any cooking. Normally, she just arranged a few things on a plate. But not tonight. The promised steak sandwiches were being built from scratch.

'Hey, you're good at this cooking thing, aren't you?'

'I try,' she said. 'The trick is in finding the time. You pick up a recipe ... it says slice some onions and caramelise for three or four minutes. Fat chance! You can burn some onions in three or four minutes. But if you want to caramelise them, to had better have 45 minutes up your sleeve. At least.'

The steak sandwiches were excellent. Light. Tasty. Soft and succulent, yet with elements of crispness. Sweet yet spicy. In fact, perfect. And the Hawke's Bay merlot-cabernet was everything that the guy at the offie had promised that it would be.

'Sorry, but Donald has me running a sales conference in Bristol this weekend,' Maggie said as they neared the end of their supper. 'I think it's his way of trying to get back at me for having the cheek to hand in my notice.'

'I take it that you are not a fan of Bristol sales conferences,' Jamie said.

'I can think of other things that I'd rather be doing,' Maggie said. 'Let me just tidy up a bit here, and then perhaps we can hold Fucking Friday a couple of days early this week.'

Jamie just smiled.

'Get undressed,' Maggie said when they reached the bedroom. 'But take your time. I want to enjoy it. I want it still to be fresh in my memory when I'm all alone down in Bristol.'

'You'll hardly be all alone,' Jamie said.

Maggie smiled. 'Oh, believe me, in a group of one hundred slimy sales reps, I shall be very happily all alone.'

'And now?' Jamie said when he had done as he was instructed.

'And now you may watch while I undress.'

Jamie sat on the edge of the bed and watched while Maggie's red-pin-striped navy blue suit was gently consigned to the back of a chair, and the lingerie items that had been hidden beneath made their way to the bedroom floor.

'You look good dressed like that,' Jamie said.

But Maggie was not finished. Having undressed, she now, partially redressed, starting by donning a plastic apron. 'Milkmaid,' she said. 'Industrial strength.' And then she donned a pair of latex gloves. 'And now if you will be so kind as to get onto your hands and knees on that plastic sheet, I think that my one-teeted goat should be ready for milking.'

Jamie's cock began to stiffen in anticipation. 'I guess that would make me a Billy goat,' he said.

Once Jamie and Maggie got into the Fucking Friday habit, they often didn't even speak to each other during the week. They just knew that, come Friday, it would be time for something to eat, something to drink, and some serious carnality.

And then one Friday night, Jamie arrived at Maggie's flat to find Maggie finely dicing shallots and smoked bacon while chatting to a woman who looked a bit like an older (perhaps 40 or so), chunkier version of Maggie.

'Jamie ... meet Julia. Julia was my neighbour in Leeds. She's going to have supper with us.'

'Oh ... OK,' Jamie said. 'Are you ...?'

'Just visiting,' Julia said. 'I had to come down for a meeting. And Maggie kindly invited me to have supper with you guys.'

'Nice,' Jamie said -- although he wasn't totally convinced that it was nice. It was Fucking Friday; not Old Neighbour Friday. 'Your message said white,' he said to Maggie, 'so I got a couple of bottles of Pinot Grigio. I hope that's OK.'

'Perfect,' Maggie said.

It was perfect. And supper was excellent. Maggie's finely chopped shallot and smoked bacon, combined with a finely chopped hot chilli, formed the base for a dish of mussels steamed in their shells in a little white wine, and finished with a generous slosh of cream. This was served with warmed crusty fresh bread and a simple cos lettuce salad.

And, despite Jamie's initial reservations, Julia turned out to be surprisingly good company. By the time that they were halfway through supper, Jamie had decided that maybe missing a Fucking Friday was not the end of the world after all. Julia turned out to be both intelligent and funny.

By the time that they had finished their supper it was still only just after eight-thirty. Maggie rinsed off the plates and bowls and put them to one side, and Jamie wrapped up the now-empty mussel shells and took them out to the bin.

'Well, I don't know about you chaps,' Maggie said when Jamie returned, 'but I could probably manage another glass of wine.'

'There is another bottle,' Jamie said.

'Precisely. So why don't we take it through with us?'

Jamie went to the fridge and took out the remaining bottle of Pinot Grigio, and by the time that he turned around again, Maggie and Julia were headed for the bedroom. Oh, well ....

When Jamie reached the bedroom, the two women were exchanging little kisses -- and Jamie got the impression that it was not for the first time. Jamie refilled the wine glasses, and then sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes and socks.

Barely an arm's length away, Maggie was tracing the outline of Julia's hip, and then Maggie's hand disappeared up under Julia's skirt. Julia shuffled her feet slightly while the two women continued to exchange kisses, and then she broke away, reached under her skirt, and lowered her knickers. Both women rearranged their positions, and Maggie's right hand headed straight for Julia's honeypot.

What was happening was happening out of sight, under the cover of Julia's skirt. But Jamie could imagine; he could imagine Maggie's fingers parting Julia's outer lips and exploring what lay between them. 'I thought that you would have your cock out by now,' Maggie said, smiling.

'I probably should do, shouldn't I?' Jamie said.

Jamie took his clothes off -- well, everything but his T-shirt -- and began stroking his cock.

'That looks nice,' Julia said.

Maggie unbuttoned Julia's shirt, exposing her pretty bra, and then she unzipped Julia's skirt and let it fall to the floor. And then, since she was now the one who was over-dressed, Maggie partly undressed herself -- down to her stockings and bra anyway. ('I find a bra and no knickers so fucking sexy,' Jamie had told her. And now he had two women dressed in a bra and no knickers.)

Somehow, they all ended up on the bed where the licked and sucked and fingered and fucked for the best part of an hour. 'I get the feeling that you ladies have done this before,' Jamie said when they had each enjoyed at least one serious orgasm.

We might have,' Julia said. 'Although not for a while.'

A couple of Fridays after Julia's visit, Maggie phoned Jamie shortly before midday to say that she was going to be a bit late that evening. 'The Chairman of Ennscore is flying in from New York for a briefing on the industrial problems they are experiencing. It should only take an hour or so. But by the time his flight lands and he gets into the Lancaster Gate office, we'll be lucky to get started before about six-thirty. Maybe you and I could meet up at The Yellow Dog.'

'No problem,' Jamie said.

'Oh, and I've taken on an occasional flatmate.'

'An occasional flatmate? What's an occasional flatmate?'

'Angela. She lives up near Cambridge. But, for various reasons, she occasionally needs a bed in town. I've only met her a couple of times, but she seems really nice. You might meet her tonight.'

Jamie and Maggie decided to grab a snack at The Yellow Dog, and by the time they got back to the flat it was after nine. There was a light on in what had been the spare bedroom. 'Angela,' Maggie said.

Maggie went up to the door and called out: 'Knock, knock.'

'Come in,' a woman's voice said. 'We're just having a little nightcap.'

Maggie pushed open the door. Most of the space in small room was taken up by a bed. Angela, probably in her mid-30s and presumably naked (her tits were certainly naked), was sitting up nursing what looked like a glass of Scotch. Beside her was a middle-aged balding man, also nursing a glass.

'This is Jamie,' Maggie said.

'The famous Jamie,' Angela said with a smile. 'And this is Mikey.'

'Would you like to join us?' Mikey said, nodding in the direction of a bottle of The Famous Grouse.

'Thanks. But we probably shouldn't mix our drinks,' Maggie said. 'I think we have some wine somewhere. We'll go and find it, and leave you two to ... well ... whatever.'

'Well ... nice to meet you,' Mikey said.